


Wonderwhy

by ratbud



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, M/M, Past Abuse, Plot Twists, Romance, Slavery mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2018-09-21 17:47:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9560162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratbud/pseuds/ratbud
Summary: Most things happen without rhyme or reason, Alyan knew, but now he was starting to get the sneaking suspicion that there was some force out there actively working against him. If Andraste was real, she was probably a bitch.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So, not gonna lie, this is the first fanfic I've written since I was... what, 13? Also, first story I've posted on here so, I'm gonna apologize in advance if I fuck up the formatting or if my writing is a bit rusty. This was done on an impulse, so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> Rated M for violence, language, nsfw mentions, and possibly some explicit nsfw scenes. Rating may go up in the future. Anyway, enjoy! Hopefully I'll get the hang of this website soon enough. In the meantime, feel free to comment/like/whatnot!

Misconceptions towards the Dalish were not exactly few and far between, however the recipients of such tales and blatant lies usually did not know of them. Perhaps it was because of their nomadic nature, and the fact that most tended to keep only to themselves and their particular clan. Barbaric they were not, however those not of the Dales would not know that, could not know that that was how they were portrayed more often than not.

Clan Lavellan was a bit of an outlier, however, given their more open nature towards those outside of their clan. Though they were still cautious, compared to other clans across Thedas, clan Lavellan was much more inclined to trade and do business with those not of their clan, even the humans. Especially the humans.

Despite clan Lavellan’s more welcoming nature, some things did not really change; the Dalish were very traditional. Certain rites were always performed verbatim, exactly how they had always been: according to the Keeper. Tradition was the backbone of their communities, and those who dared to question the order of things only seemed to appear once in a blue moon.

Alyan was not one such rebel. At least, not anymore. After all it had taken him to get to where he was now, to find the clan he worked hard to call home, Alyan learned to go with the steady flow the clan seemed to have kept up for years, perhaps even decades, centuries. As a hunter, he had a set list of duties he was expected to perform, and he did so happily. Wake up, feed his people, guard the camp, go to bed, and start the cycle over the next day. Of course he made time for socialization and friendly banter in between all of that; after all, the Dalish were not brutes and were actually quite amicable so long as you were one of them.

It had taken Alyan years to get to that point, and that was okay.

“Alyan! _Nuven'in amahn_ , come this way!” A figure on the other side of the clearing waved a distracted Alyan over to the weapons’ aravel, and Alyan stood from his seat on a tipped-over log to see what his clanmate needed, the small remainder ram jerky he’d been munching on shoved into his mouth.  
When he approached the elf, Tomhan, who happened to be one of his closest companions in the clan, handed him a familiar pair of sharpened daggers. Eyes lit with excitement, Alyan took the weapons and unsheathed them with ease. He swallowed the food in his mouth before speaking, his usually quiet voice tinted with the same hint of excitement.

“That didn’t take very long, _ma’ falon_. Thank you for sharpening them, they were very much due for it.” The gratitude showed clear in his expression, and Tomhan basked in it. Hands on his hips, the lanky elf cocked his head towards the training area the clan had set up towards the edge of camp.

“Don’t thank me quite yet. Give them a go in the ring, and let me know if they’re up to par. I don’t want you to realize that they need work right when you need them to do their job.” He instructed, and followed Alyan over to the designated ring. Alyan gave his reply as they walked.

“I’m not worried about the quality. You are the one who sharpened them, after all.” he hummed, and Tomhan merely shouldered him playfully in response.

“Too much praise and it’ll start to get to me, _lethallin_. Be careful with your words.” he teased, and Alyan simply rolled his eyes in reply.

Things between the two, between Alyan and the rest of his clan, had not always been this laid back. In the beginning, conversations had been curt and clipped, usually ending with insults and obscenities directed towards the outsider. It was true that Alyan had not been born among them, had not found them until he hit his teenage years, and though the Keeper had been more than generous with her offer of salvation (She hadn’t even pestered him for a story of how he came to reside in the Free Marches, after watching him completely shut down when prompted), it took a lot of getting used to on both ends. While he at least shared a race with his new brethren, that was pretty much where the similarities ended between them, and so began the now decade-long struggle to learn to coincide.

It paid off, Alyan mused as he struck at the dummy filled with hay. He often found himself reflecting on how much things had changed in the time since his arrival to clan Lavellan. He also thought about how much he had changed as well.

As it turns out, trauma can harm a person in some pretty strange ways. It took Alyan weeks before he was able to speak a single word to the Keeper, and even then, the only words he spoke for the longest time were ‘yes’ and ‘no’. For his first few days at camp, he ate nothing, drank nothing. Only when the Keeper had resorted to threatening to force food into his body did he manage to get a little bit of ram meat down his throat. His body had almost instantly rejected them, ram remnants and stomach acid coming back up in one swift motion, but after a few days and a lot of healing magic, he was finally able to hold down a little bit of food and water at a time.

Worst of all, though, were the dreams. Even though nearly ten years had passed since his arrival, he still had them, and time had not done much to quell them or make them any more tolerable.

Alyan did not like to think about the dreams, for reasons he did not like to speak of.

Wiping the sweat from his brow and pushing his black bangs behind his ear, he stood back and observed the mutilated dummy with a little thrumming pride, both in his ability and in his friend’s craftsmanship.

“See? I knew they would be in good shape.” he called to Tomhan, who had been observing from his seat atop the fence around the ring. This only garnered Alyan a shrug and a smirk.  
“Better to be safe than sorry. You would’ve been in something deep if you had been fending off bandits only to find that they were duller than a ram that knocked its head one too many times.” he snorted, and hopped off of his perch to approach Alyan. The elf sheathed his daggers, and before he could reply, a new voice rang out, sounding scathing and irritated.

“ _Nua’ len_! You two are nothing but trouble, that’s the third dummy this week you’ve managed to destroy!” an old, creaky voice chastised, and up came Velva, one of the elder members of their clan. While Alyan appeared properly scolded, his head hanging some and his black, shoulder-length hair falling in his face once more, Tomhan didn’t appear fazed in the slightest.

“It only means we did a good job, _tarlan_. If Alyan can obliterate a practice dummy that effortlessly, imagine what he could do to a _shem_!” Tomhan’s boasting did nothing to quell the older elf’s anger. Alyan could see a vein start to show itself on her forehead and he silently willed his friend to, for the love of all that was sacred, keep his mouth shut.

Of course, this did not happen. Alyan wasn’t sure why he had expected anything else.  
By the end of the ordeal, both had pretty sizable knots on the tops of their heads and had been sent to shovel halla dung for the remainder of the evening.

 

…

 

“Alyan, ma’ _da’lin_ , would you come here for a moment?”  
The sound of the Keeper beckoning to him clearly took Alyan off guard, and the look on her face did nothing to soothe his growing concern. Standing and excusing himself from the fire, where a small circle of friends he had been feasting with had gathered, he made his way over to the Keeper and politely bowed his head a little in greeting.

“ _Aneth ara_ , Keeper. What can I do for you?” he murmured in his usual, soft-spoken tone. After scanning her gaze over the clearing of people, only a couple pairs of eyes looking up at them from their meals curiously, she motioned for Alyan to follow her into her tent.  
Being invited into the Keeper’s tent was usually not a good omen.  
“Follow me, my boy. I have something private I wish to discuss with you.”  
His worry only growing, Alyan dutifully nodded and followed her into the tent, shutting the flap behind them so they would not be overheard.

The Keeper’s tone was not grave, nothing of the sort, but the weird, unreadable expression on her face had Alyan’s mind racing. Was this because of the incident with Velva from earlier? Usually the Keeper stayed out of affairs so trivial, especially since they had already been dealt with and punished. Neither he nor Tomhan had misbehaved after that, no more practice dummies had been obliterated, so why would she talk to him about that?

“If you keep frowning like that, _da’ len_ , your face is bound to get stuck like that.” Her teasing brought Alyan out of his reverie, and he shot the old elf woman a tiny, apologetic smile.  
“Sorry, Keeper. I’m just worried as to why you asked to speak with me. Forgive me for prying, but… The clan is safe, right? There is nothing troubling us?” he asked as he sat down across from her, legs folded neatly underneath him and he knelt a few feet away.

The hesitation before the Keeper shook her head had Alyan on edge once more.

“The clan is fine, my boy. We are thriving, you know this. However… You are aware of the relations between the humans as of late, are you not?”

“They… Have been strained as of late, yes? What does that have to do with us, though?”

“I have heard rumors of a meeting that will be held in a place of worship for the humans, a place in the Frostbacks known as the Temple of Sacred Ashes. It is said to be a talk of peace between their nations, and many important officials will be there, including Divine Justinia herself. It is being held in hopes that negotiations will be made to stave off impending war between their mages and templars,” the Keeper explained, though it was clear that Alyan still was not exactly following, unsure where they fit in with all of this.

“You know as well as I do, as does the rest of the clan, that much of our business is done with the humans, therefore it is in our best interest to keep up to date with their relations. I have decided to send you and Tomhan to the Conclave to watch the negotiations take place, then return and tell me what happened.”

Alyan was floored.  
The fact that the Keeper put this much trust in him, someone who was not clan-born, nearly brought tears to his eyes.  
He pushed said emotion to the back burners of his mind, though. He could deal with those later.

“Keeper, that is a very risky move, you do realize? If anyone should see us, we would be worse than dead, and the clan would be put in danger as well.”

“I am aware, child, and that is exactly why I am sending you both. I believe Tomhan and yourself are more than capable of remaining in stealth long enough to gather this information, and I have no doubt that you two will succeed and return to us in one piece.”

Alyan had his doubts, however. There was so much that could go wrong, so much that they could do wrong. One misstep and their entire clan would be in peril, and Alyan wasn’t sure if he could carry out this mission knowing exactly what was at stake.  
But the Keeper put her faith in him for a good reason, he supposed, even if he had no idea as to what that reason was. He decided he would trust her judgement.

“Ma _nuven’in_ , Keeper. I will do as you ask. Would you like me to tell Tomhan of the plan? When do we depart?”  
A small, fond smile appeared on the Keeper’s lips at his reply, and she sat back, clearly more at ease now that she had him on board.  
She was his Keeper, of course he would do as she asked, but knowing that she had his full support and a commitment to this cause brought her ease of mind.

“The two of you will leave in a week’s time, long enough to get your affairs in order. The conclave is on the next full moon, however it will take you a good week or so to reach the town of Haven from where we are now. As for Tomhan, just send him inside after you leave. Assure him that nothing is wrong, for I know he will be filled with questions when you return.” The last part was spoken humorously; it was well-known that Tomhan was chatty and did not have much of a filter. Alyan mentally steeled himself for the barrage of questions waiting for him outside the tent.

After he was excused from their little meeting and had fetched Tomhan for the Keeper (Effectively ignoring his interrogating, too, which he took a little pride in), Alyan retired for the night and tried to sleep his nerves off.

For the first time in months, those dreams haunted his subconscious once more.

 

…

 

The time to leave for the Conclave came far too quickly for Alyan’s liking.  
Both he and Tomhan were well-prepared for their journey there and back, both of them fitted with thick clothes and extra pairs, as well as enough food and coin to keep them sustained for the next two or so weeks. Coupled with the fact that both he and Tomhan were more than capable hunters and fighters, he knew he shouldn’t have anything to worry about.  
Perhaps it was the amount of trust his entire clan was bestowing upon him in this moment that was weighing him down. He kind of felt like he was going to be sick.

“ _Lethallin_ , you look like you’re going to lose your dinner. We can handle this, you know.” Tomhan whispered his encouragement with a sidelong glance in Alyan’s direction. He tried, in vain, to mentally untie the knots in his stomach. There was no helping it at this point. All he could do was nod at his friend and say his goodbye’s to his clanmates.

There were tears, sniffled farewell’s and _dareth shiral_ ’s, and before long, they had set off on their journey, Alyan’s nerves still quietly going haywire.

Of course, they had run into a bit of trouble in their travels to the Frostbacks; bandits and stray apostates and templars were not exactly kind to those not sympathetic to their cause (In the bandits’ case, the cause at hand was looting people of all their money), and the fact that the pair of elves sort of stuck out like a sore thumb among populations of humans did nothing to help. Despite the few fights that took place, though, the two made it to Haven in a week’s time and in one piece. Alyan had acquired a new scar in the meantime, right under his left eye, but it had healed quickly and cleanly, therefore he wasn’t very concerned with it.

“Almost there, _ma’ falon_ , and just in time for the Conclave. Tomorrow night is the big night, let’s use tomorrow to rest up so we can leave as soon as the negotiations have been settled.” Tomhan had soothed, and Alyan was thankful for the reasonable part of his usually mischievous friend. The Keeper had chosen well when she picked Tomhan to accompany him; while more than not he was silly and not all that serious, he was more dependable than others gave him credit for. Alyan was well aware that this trip wouldn’t have been possible without him.

“That’s not a bad idea. There should be a little cave about a mile outside the village, the Keeper said. Perhaps we could build a fire and rest there?”

“Sounds as good of an idea as any. Let’s hurry and find it before night falls and we freeze to death.”

After a couple hours of searching and a few choice words for the snow that steadily coated everything in their path, Alyan and Tomhan finally managed to find the cave in question and made haste to set up their shelter. Before long, they were both huddled close to the fire, hands outstretched to take in the warmth.

Both elves were quiet for a long while, but Alyan eventually broke the silence, his voice especially small.

“...What do you believe will come of these negotiations, Tomhan? Do you think the humans will put aside their differences and come to an agreement? Will the clan suffer because of the decision? What if this meeting only causes more strife? What if - “ 

“ _Lethallin_ , you’re going to fry my brain with all of these questions.” Tomhan interrupted with a sigh when he sensed there would either be no end to the questions, or the end would be a breakdown. It wasn’t unusual for Alyan to be so fretful, he knew, and he was actually rather skilled in bringing the other down a notch or two and calming him down when things got a little too overwhelming.

“I have absolutely no clue what these shemlen are going to decide, lethallin.” Tomhan finally answered, and before Alyan could get a word in otherwise, he continued,

“All I know is that regardless of the outcome, we will work with it. Whether that means we pack up and settle as far away from the _shemlens_ as possible, or whether we open trade with them even further, remains to be seen. Neither you or I will know until tomorrow afternoon, so there’s no use dwelling on it. Now, take some poppy, lay down by the fire, and get some rest. We have a big day tomorrow.”

It was in that moment that Alyan’s heart swelled with affection for his closest friend, and for the first time since the Keeper had called him into her tent weeks ago, he actually felt at ease.

“...Perhaps you’re right. Don’t stay up too late, _ma’ falon_. I’ll get us both up before dawn.” Alyan murmured, and after downing a couple poppy seeds and settling down for the night, he drifted off easily. That night he dreamt of clan life, his subconscious amplifying how homesick he already felt.

 

…

 

The trek up the mountain and to the Temple of Sacred Ashes was a little more perilous than either of them had anticipated, and by the time they had made it to the meeting place and situated themselves out of sight, but within range of the negotiations Alyan had vowed to never return to the Frostbacks. He missed the feeling of grass between his toes, and the feeling of the ocean lapping at his ankles… He would not miss the burning cold that permeated his very being.  
Oh, how he missed the Free Marches....

“It’s about to begin.” Tomhan whispered his way, nudging his side softly, just enough to get Alyan’s attention. His focus returning, Alyan set his gaze on the moderate gathering of people, and then on one individual in particular; the Divine herself.

Alyan had heard brief tales of the Divine, and also of her left and right hands whose names he couldn’t care to remember. While she stood for beliefs he did not necessarily share, all the stories he’d heard of her had been kind and merciful. Despite her benevolence, however, he knew that she was a force to be reckoned with. She did not command respect, but seemed to get it effortlessly, and that was something that Alyan greatly admired about her.

This was what he mused about before she started to speak, but before she had even gotten a full sentence out, Alyan noticed that something was off.  
There was a certain presence in the air, something that made Alyan’s stomach twist, something that made him want to turn tail and run.  
“Tomhan…” he began in a murmur, hand already reaching for his daggers at his side… But before he could express his worry, all hell broke loose.

There was a lapse in memory, and then… Nothing.  
Nothing, until he fell to the ground face-first, a searing pain shooting through his left hand, and then nothing once more.

 

 

**TRANSLATIONS**

_Nuven'in amahn_ \- (very roughly) We need you here

_ma' falon_ \- my friend

_Nua' len_ \- (roughly) troublesome children

_tarlan_ \- ma'am

_shem/shemlen_ \- human(s)

_ma' da'lin_ \- my boy

_Aneth ara_ \- greeting: my safe place

_da' len_ \- (roughly) little one

_Ma nuven’in_ \- As you wish

_lethallin_ \- cousin/clansman (masc.)

_dareth shiral_ \- safe journey


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, not gonna lie, this chapter is a little bland. The script sticks pretty strictly to the actual script in the game (Disclaimer: i own absolutely none of it, obviously), but there's a few snippets of things that are kinda important to Alyan's backstory (which will be revealed eventually!). future chapters won't stick to the script as closely, but i felt it was kind of necessary for this chapter. anyways, enjoy! feel free to comment and kudos! (-:

The first thing Alyan noticed when he finally came to were the manacles that bound his hands together. His immediate, knee-jerk reaction was to panic, however panicking for him mostly just consisted of freezing on the spot and halting his breathing entirely.llll  
Just as he was started to feel lightheaded, a noise from in front of him jarred him back to reality, and he sucked in a shallow breath when a beautifully intimidating woman slammed open the door to the chamber he was currently being held. Another woman, rivaling the first in both of the previous qualities, came hurrying after her.  
Alyan couldn’t help but flinch when the women approached, and as if his body was reacting to his shock, an intense pain flared on his left hand, and… A green light shone from it for a brief moment.  
Would it be appropriate to vomit? Because Alyan seriously felt like he was going to vomit. They couldn’t know, he’d done so well to hide it, this couldn’t be happening… This couldn’t be normal…

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.” The woman with the short, dark hair spoke when she saw the flare of light emitting from his hand, her expression stony and, honestly, a little murderous. It seemed to have the intended effect, because he soon realized he was trembling in his shackles.

“The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.”

It took Alyan a second to fully comprehend what she had said. Dead? But… That didn’t make any sense. The negotiations had just started, he and Tomhan had made sure to pay close attention, why couldn’t he remember?  
Where was Tomhan? Oh Gods, he wasn’t dead too, was he? That couldn’t be possible…

In his shocked stupor, he couldn’t find it in him to reply to the woman, and he merely looked up at her helplessly, the cogs in his mind wearing themselves thin as he tried to really process what was going on.

The angry woman clearly didn’t like his lack of reply, and without warning she reached forward and grabbed the hand that appeared to be glowing. Just looking at it made Alyan feel sick all over again.

“Explain _this_!” she all but spat, and as if in response to her hostility, the mark on his hand flared once more. He couldn’t stop the cry of pain that escaped him. Gods, it hurt to so bad…

“I… Can’t…” he managed to grind out, teeth clenched in in agony.

“What do you mean, you _can’t_?”

“I don’t know what that is or how it got there.”

“You’re _lying_!”

Just as she spoke, she raised a fist as if to strike him, and Alyan flinched back out of habit, hands raised as much as he could get them to in his defense.

Before he could feel the sting of the strike, though, the other woman in the room spoke up, her Orlesian accent taking Alyan off guard. Come to think of it, neither of these women sounded like they were from Ferelden. Who _were_ they?

“We need him, Cassandra.” Her words must have carried some authority, because the strike never came and only a few seconds later he was released from Cassandra’s angry hold, stumbling backwards.

“I don’t… Understand…” he murmured, looking between the two with the most perplexed expression he could manage. The Orlesian woman finally looked to him, and though she didn’t appear as outwardly-threatening as the other, Alyan felt a chill run down his spine when their gazes met.

“Do you remember what happened? How this began?”

The question jogged his memory, but only in the slightest. Brows furrowed, Alyan looked down to the cobbled ground in an attempt to recall exactly what had happened to him.

“I… Remember running. Things were chasing me.” Ah, right, the spiders.  
“And then… A woman?”

The Orlesian woman seemed taken aback by that. “A woman?”

“She reached out to me, but then…”

When he trailed off, clearly unable to remember what had come next, the two women exchanged glances, and then Cassandra spoke.

“Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take him to the rift.”

Alyan watched as the Orlesian - Leliana, apparently - took her leave and hurried out of the room, and once she was gone he turned his gaze back on Cassandra, brows still furrowed. If the Keeper had been here, she probably would have made a remark about how his face would get stuck if he kept making that face.  
Oh, Gods, the Keeper… Alyan hoped with all of his might that at least the rest of his clan was not in harm’s way right now.

“What _did_ happen?” he asked without thinking, and instead of giving him a straight answer, Cassandra merely pulled him into a standing position and replaced the manacles with rope, ready to lead him out of the stuffy room.  
“It will be easier to show you.”

 

…

 

Of all the things Alyan had expected, a giant tear in the sky spewing demons left and right was not exactly one of them.  
The mark on his hand clearly had something to do with it, as every time the friggin’ thing shot demons down to the ground the mark pulsed accordingly, and suddenly Alyan understood why they had thought he was at fault.  
Sort of. The mark and its relationship to the rift only brought up a multitude of other questions, none of which he nor Cassandra had the answer to.

After agreeing to help with closing the damned thing, possibly by using the newfound mark on his hand, Cassandra led him through the village (Was… He in Haven?) and in the direction of the forward camp, where they were supposed to meet Leliana and a few other people Cassandra neglected to elaborate on.

He was met with glares and curses, spit being directed at his boots and fists raised and waved his way. He was not used to such open hatred, had never experienced anything quite like this. Never before had he been so close to so many people that wanted him dead for something he was sure he didn’t even do.  
But then again, the mark on his hand was pretty questionable. Perhaps if he wasn’t the one in this situation, he would be feeling the same as them. After all, many people apparently died whereas he had survived. Maybe he would feel at least a little bitter too.

Once out of the camp Cassandra cut the ropes on his hands, which… Kind of caught Alyan off guard. Before he could question it, she spoke.

“Come, it is not far.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“Your mark must be tested on something smaller than the Breach.” She explained simply, but Alyan still wasn’t exactly following. He said nothing, however, and opted instead to just follow where she lead.

They first came to a bridge, and the sight was a hard one for Alyan to behold. Injured soldiers were strewn about, resting where they could, a few huddled up with a Chantry Brother who was reciting what Alyan kind of recognized as the Chant of Light, and the rest just sitting in agony. A Chantry Sister prayed over a small line of corpses, didn’t bother to look up to greet the newcomers, and they simply left her in peace.  
Cassandra barked an order at two soldiers who stood by the gate to open it, and once they passed through and hurried past the barricades and panicking soldiers up the hill, the mark on his hand flared once more. Alyan fell to the ground with a grunt of pain, his right hand clutching the one with the mark with a vice-like grip. Cassandra came to his aide, and helped stand him up and keep him steady.

“The pulses are coming faster now. The larger the Breach grows, the more rifts appear, the more demons we face.”

This newfound information was not comforting in the slightest.

Alyan paled, and turned his gaze once more to the giant tear in the sky.

“How _did_ I survive the blast?”

Cassandra seemed to hesitate, choosing her words carefully before they left her lips.

“They say you… Stepped out of a rift, then fell unconscious. They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was. Everything farther in the valley was laid waste, including the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I suppose you’ll see soon enough.”

Her words did nothing to ease his curiosity or his anxiety, but he said nothing as he continued to follow her to the second bridge, hoping that whatever waited for them there was not as grisly as the scene they’d just left.  
His hopes were in vain, however, because as soon as they began to cross the second bridge, a blast from the Breach directed its course straight towards the bridge, and before Alyan could even think to react, both he and Cassandra, as well as everyone and everything who was on the bridge, came crashing down onto the frozen river below. Rubble fell all around them and Alyan could only thank the Gods that they somehow hadn’t gotten crushed.

Seemingly without any hesitation, the Breach spat out another blast not far from where they had fallen, and before they could react two demons came crawling out of the rifts.  
Alyan knew the sight would haunt him for a long, long while.

“Stay behind me!” Cassandra ordered in a tone that left no room for argument, and charged in the direction of the first shade, sword drawn, with little hesitation. Alyan would have been more than happy to follow her command, had it not been for the second shade making a steady pace his way.  
Glancing around to find something, anything to use as a weapon, he noticed a pair of daggers a few feet to his left that just seemed to be calling his name. They weren’t nearly as nice as the ones Tomhan had crafted for him, but they were weapons nonetheless, and without any hesitation he scrambled over to the blades, picked them up, and got right to it.

Once the shades had been defeated, Alyan let his hands fall limp to his sides, daggers still in his hold as he panted from the exertion.  
“It’s over.” he sighed, but tensed when Cassandra pointed her sword and threatening glare his way.

“Drop your weapons. _Now_.”

“A demon attacked me. What was I supposed to do?”

“You don’t _need_ to fight.”

“Are you saying it won’t happen again?”

This appeared to make some sense to the woman, as much as she appeared to hate it. She sighed.

“You’re right.” She sheathed her sword, and turned to continue leading him up the path.  
“I cannot protect you, and I cannot expect you to be defenseless.”

She stopped in her tracks, however, and looked back at him just enough to throw him a suspicious glare.

“I should remember you agreed to come willingly.”

 

…

 

After trekking through more demon-infested, snowy wasteland, they eventually reached another peculiar scene; an elf and a dwarf fighting a small group of demons, and an open fade rift. With no time for introductions, both newcomers went straight to work in killing the first wave of demons, and then the second. On the third, the strange elf somehow managed to get Alyan to close the rift with the mark on his hand.

The feeling was… weird. It was a force he’d never experienced before, and though one specific memory came to mind, he knew it still did not compare. The shutting feeling was even more strange - it was as if the link between him and the rift had snapped, and boom: the rift was gone, the only evidence it had been there was a small pile of demon essence left on the ground where it once stood… floated… whatever.

Introductions were made, though they still left Alyan feeling more lost than before, and after averting conversation away from the mark on his hand (Much to the strange elf’s displeasure), they soon continued their journey to the forward camp, along with their two new companions.

The whole time they journeyed, Alyan could feel the strange elf’s (Solas, was it?) eye’s on him. He seemed like he wanted to speak, a multitude of questions ready to burst from his lips, but he kept the contained. However, Alyan had a feeling that he would be pulled aside sooner or later and interrogated.

If they made it out of this alive, anyway.

 

…

 

After closing a couple more rifts (This time with the help of their newfound companions), they soon reached the forward camp, where Leliana and a very disgruntled Chancellor met them. Words were exchanged, the Chancellor only growing more frustrated with the lot of them by the second, Alyan and Cassandra in particular, and soon a decision had to be made: how they would travel to the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

In the end, they ended up taking the mountain pass, because while it was a little more risky, Alyan would not be able to live with himself if they didn’t at least try to find the missing scouts that had made their way up there earlier. Cassandra was clearly not thrilled with his decision, however Varric and Leliana seemed to be all for it, and if Alyan was honest, he was glad to finally have some support, even if it was minuscule.

So they started their trek into the abandoned mine shafts, the lot of them keeping an eye out for the missing scouts. After encountering two separate rifts, they eventually found the scouts (Or at least, what was left of them), and after exchanging what pleasantries they could, they continued on their way to the ruined temple.

The Breach was infinitely more intimidating up close, and the only thing more eerie than the Breach itself was the remnants of memories of its creation.

Images flashed by in front of them all, and the only way Alyan knew he wasn’t hallucinating was by the expressions on his comrades’ faces as they watched the scene unfold.  
A flash of white light, and the fuzzy image of some… Beast restraining the Divine came to life. She cried for help, and just in the knick of time, the apparition of Alyan came bursting through the Temple doors.

“ _What’s going on here_?” the apparition questioned, daggers already at the ready by his sides. The ghostly image of the Divine looked back at him and urged him to run, and the beast drug out an order to have him slain. Before they could see what happened next, there was another flash of light and the entire scene disappeared, leaving all of those who witnessed it in shock.  
Cassandra was the first to speak, her entire demeanor bewildered.

“You _were_ there! Who attacked? And the Divine, is she…? Was the vision true? What are we seeing?”

The barrage of questions only seemed to bring Alyan more stress, for when he spoke, his voice was actually raised. It was very unlike him.

“I don’t remember!”

Thankfully, Solas interjected with an explanation of how the image came to be, and Cassandra came to the sensible conclusion that with the image, and the closing of this rift, would come more demons. As it turns out, she was correct. No one was shocked.

It was the most grueling battle for Alyan thus far, not just for that day, but probably in his entire life, and by the time the demon was finally defeated and the Breach was stabilized (Though not closed), Alyan felt ready to drop - and he did just that. For the second time that day, his tired body succumbed to unconsciousness.

 

….

 

The next time he woke, it was to a rather startled elven servant apologizing profusely for… Gods knew what.  
It only seemed to put him on edge even more, and he immediately fired off questions.

“Is this another prison?” he demanded, bolting upright, ready to hightail it out of there should the need arise. His interrogating only served to upset and confuse the servant, and she stumbled over her words trying to explain herself, falling to her knees in the process. The show of submissiveness was unnerving, for multiple reasons.

“I-I beg your forgiveness and your blessing. I am but a humble servant. You’re back in Haven, my lord. They say you saved us. The Breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand. It’s all anyone’s talked about for the last three days!”

Wait… Three days? Oh, that was not good…

Shaking his head to push that particular worry away, Alyan willed himself to relax as he went on.

“So you’re saying… They’re happy with me?” If they weren’t going to try and have him executed now, he supposed he could live with this turn of events. He did rather enjoy not dying, especially over a crime he was almost completely sure he didn’t commit.

“I’m only saying what I heard, I don’t mean anything by it… I’m sure Lady Cassandra will want to know you’ve wakened. She said, ‘at once’!”

“And where is she?”

“In the Chantry with the Lord Chancellor. ‘At once’, she said!”

Before he could fire off any more questions, the servant hurried out of the room, leaving Alyan to his own devices. It took all of his willpower to climb out of bed and make his way up the hill and towards the chantry. His body ached all over, presumably from his run-in with that pride demon, but amidst all of the ass-backwards attention he was getting, he hardly noticed. Scattered soldiers saluted him as he walked by, as if those same soldiers hadn’t been holding swords in his face and threatening to use them only days before. The same civilians who had spat at his feet at the forward camp now sent him thankful, grateful gazes as he walked by, though none spoke to him. Whether it was because he was an elf or a supposed legend now, he wasn’t sure, though he did know for a fact that he didn’t mind their silence. Honestly, after the rude awakening he had, he wasn’t really up for talking to much of anyone.

He mostly just wanted to go home.

Apparently, though, that wasn’t happening any time soon. At least, not if this Seeker had anything to say about it.

When he made it to the Chantry, he was relieved to find it almost completely empty. Voices reverberated through the empty main hall, however, and it didn’t take much for Alyan to figure out who it was.

“Have you gone completely mad? He should be taken to Val Royeaux immediately, to be tried by whomever becomes Divine.” The Chancellor, who sounded just as heated about the issue as before.

“I do not believe he is guilty.” And… The Seeker. Had she changed her mind? Was it because he had cooperated, helped to try and close the Breach, or was it because of the memories they all saw before the big fight? Alyan supposed he should be grateful regardless of the reason, but it was still a little jarring. Exactly how much had changed while he was out?

He remained silent as he opened the door to the room that held the voices, and all eyes turned to him almost immediately. The Chancellor was immediately on his guard, bristling at the mere sight of him, and fired off a command to chain him up. Cassandra easily intercepted them, dismissing the order, and the few soldiers accompanying them seemed to hold her in higher regard, as there was no move to chain him up again. Alyan thanked whatever gods were out there; he wasn’t sure his wrists could take much more.

Once dismissed, the soldiers filed out of the room in single-file. The action earned Cassandra a nasty glare from the Chancellor.

“You walk a dangerous line, Seeker.”

Mighty as she was, Cassandra wasn’t phased in the slightest. The subject was deftly steered away from the newcomer.

“The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it.”

“So I’m still a suspect, even after what we just did?” Alyan found it a suitable time to intervene, though he remained guarded, arms crossed and posture stiff. The Chancellor just snorted, shooting a pointed glare his way.

“You have done plenty. Your actions will be taken into account by the new Divine.”

Once more, Cassandra stepped in to counter his commands.

“Have a care, Chancellor. The Breach is not the only threat we face.”

“Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave. Someone Most Holy did not expect.” Leliana, who Alyan had not even noticed at that point, decided to interject, throwing both the elf and the Chancellor off guard. The ginger swept her gaze across the room, and when it landed on Alyan - even though it didn’t linger - he had never felt so scrutinized in his life. He averted his gaze and Leliana resumed speaking.

“Perhaps they died with the others, or have allies who yet live.”

And now, her scrutiny was directed towards the Chancellor. He looked downright appalled.

“ _I_ am a suspect?”

“You, and many others.”

“But _not_ the prisoner.”

“I heard the voices in the temple. The Divine called to him for help.” Cassandra immediately rose to Alyan’s defence, narrowing her eyes at the Chancellor, who was clearly getting fed up with the argument at this point. Alyan didn’t blame him. Personally, he kind of wanted to take this conversation in a bit of a different direction.

“So his survival, that thing on his hand, all a coincidence?” The Chancellor rebuked, and Alyan couldn’t help but silently admit that he had a point. Though he was sure that he didn’t actually do anything, it was hard to argue that his survival wasn’t suspicious. Oh, but just thinking about it had him feeling anxious. He was doomed, wasn’t he?

Luckily for him, Cassandra was there to put his mind at ease. Or, at least, she tried.

“Providence. The Maker sent him to us in our darkest hour.”

Now, despite the fact that Alyan had mostly grown up among the Dalish, with their gods aplenty, he didn’t exactly consider himself religious. He didn’t believe in the Elven gods, and while he did believe in the Maker, he was not exactly his biggest fan. He didn’t think much of it, though, especially after growing up with the Dalish. The Maker had no place among them, and honestly, that was just fine with Alyan.

Once again, he tried to steer the conversation in a bit of a different direction. He wasn’t about to argue about the will of the Maker with a Chancellor and a zealot.  
“So you’ve changed your mind about me.” he questioned, looking to Cassandra with equal parts interest and confusion. With the look that she returned, he could tell she was being genuine, and very deliberate.

“I was wrong. Perhaps I still am. I will not, however, pretend you were not exactly what we needed when we needed it.”

When Alyan (And the Chancellor, for that matter) said nothing, Leliana spoke up once more.

“The Breach remains and your mark is our only hope of closing it.”  
The Chancellor was quick to argue, which came as no surprise to any of them.

“This is not for you to decide.”

Before the Chancellor could pull out any more stops, Cassandra decided to pull hers first. Reaching down, she grabbed a large, leather-bound book with an insignia that Alyan had never seen before and slammed it on the table, meeting the Chancellor’s eyes with a hardness that had both men sufficiently intimidated. Alyan was glad he had her on his side now, else he probably wouldn’t survive this.

“You know what this is, Chancellor? A writ from the Divine, granting us authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the inquisition reborn.” She descended on the Chancellor as she spoke, backing him against the wall and poking a finger at his chest menacingly - and oh, did it have the desired effect. Alyan was sure the Chancellor was shaking now, though out of anger or intimidation, he wasn’t sure.

“We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order with or without your approval.”

Alyan watched as the Chancellor left the room, his proverbial tail between his legs, and looked to the two remaining forces of nature left in the room. Both looked equally determined and a feeling of dread crashed over Alyan like a wave.  
Oh Gods, what had he gotten himself into?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hi hello i haven't updated this thing in a very long time and i have no excuse :'D this chapter is a little bland as well, and i apologize, but alyan finally meets the love of his life, so there's that! (he doesn't know it yet though, lmao). thank you all for being so patient! we're finally about to get to the good stuff!

Of all the places Alyan thought he’d end up, the forefront of a rebellious Andrastian organization was never one of them.  
No one in his team of advisors seemed to really care that he himself wasn’t Andrastian, but he couldn’t help but wonder what made them think a Dalish elf would be a good candidate for a position like this. Unholy glowing mark aside (Which some people now seemed to revere; that was an unsettling thought for multiple reasons.), there was no reason for the few people that stood with the Inquisition to support him. He was an elf, he had haywire magic embedded in him, and if he was honest, his people skills weren’t all that great. Why would they think so highly of him?

It was almost a relief to feel the hostility pointed their way once his party ventured out into the Hinterlands. It was short-lived, though, when he realized just how widespread and fatal the conflict between the templars and mages had become. Both sides were equally brutal, and it was hard to feel sympathy for either group as he surveyed the aftermath.

He could feel dread and a tiny, foreign sense of panic build up inside him as he looked around at the corpses that littered the ground, all of the blood, the burning buildings… They needed to leave. Now.

“Mother Giselle can’t be far,” he began, voice cracking just enough to be noticeable. Thankfully, no one commented on it. Everyone seemed to wear the same somber expression, to varying degrees.

“The scouts said that there was a trading outpost east of here, and that we’d more than likely find her there. We should hurry.”

“Won’t argue with that, Shivs. Lead the way,” Varric followed up, gesturing for Alyan to take the lead. It was still a little unnerving how everyone naturally seemed to fall into place, how willing they were to follow Alyan into the unknown. Even Cassandra, who had only just begun to trust him only days before, seemed content with Alyan at the head of their party. Considering the fact that Alyan had never once led anything in his life (Aside from the trip to the Temple, and just look at how well that turned out), it was obvious that he was a little out of his element.

Before he could think on it too hard and angst himself to death, they reached the crossroads the scouts had mentioned. It didn’t take long to find the person at the heart of the refuge, currently tending to an injured Inquisition soldier refusing treatment from a mage. Alyan… Understood.  
He waited until the man had conceded and laid back down before he interrupted, speaking up with his usual soft voice.

“Mother Giselle,” he began, and when she turned to face him, he met her easy gaze head-on. All of his previous anxieties escaped him when their eyes met; it was hard to feel scrutinized under her nonjudgemental gaze, thankfully. He’d had enough of that to last a lifetime.

“I am. And you must be the one they are calling, the ‘Herald of Andraste’.”

“Not… By choice, but yes.” he murmured, earning him a tiny smile in return. He’d never met a more non-threatening presence. It was kind of amazing.

“Perhaps. But I did not ask for you to come, simply to debate. I only wish to offer guidance. Come, walk with me.” She beckoned for him to follow, and after sending his companions a backwards glance, as if to ask for permission, he started forward and followed her lead. She went on to explain that his best option forward would be to gain Chantry support, and of course, Alyan had a hard time wrapping his head around the idea.

“You know they denounced the Inquisition. I’m a heretic to them. Why would they listen to anything we have to say?”

“Let me put it this way; you don’t need to gather all of the clerics’ support. You just need some of them to doubt. Show them that you are not a threat, that you really do have Thedas’s best interests in mind.”

“Do you… Actually believe I am capable of that?” The earnest question earned him a warm smile, and a tiny nod of the Mother’s head.

“I would not have sent for you if I did not think you would succeed. I do not claim to know how exactly the Maker works, but I do have faith in his regardless. I have faith in you, dear boy.”

Well… shit. He couldn’t very well argue that.

 

After Mother Giselle spoke about her plans to return to haven and speak with Leliana about specific clerics that have the potential to be swayed, Alyan and his companions parted ways with Mother Giselle and focused their sights on repairing some of the damage the Hinterlands had suffered.

 

…

 

Day by day, the local farmers and soldiers began to put their faith in the Inquisition. Alyan and his companions set out to help wherever they could, doing anything from helping a local hunter find ram meat for the people at the refugee camp, to leading a wayward druffalo back to its worried owner. They even mingled in the fighting a little, clearing out apostate strongholds to gather supplies for the refugees and taking down templar camps and checkpoints to make the roads a little bit safer.

Of course, there was no shortage of demons and fade rifts, too. Those were Alyan’s least favorite to deal with, but he knew they couldn’t exactly leave them alone, either.  
The demons were causing a much bigger ruckus than Alyan had anticipated, messing with the fauna and turning usually docile and/or wary creatures into antagonistic beasts. The wolves that they cleared out for Horsemaster Dennet’s wife were a prime example, and Alyan knew that they wouldn’t be the only ones suffering from the influence of these goddamn demons.

Demons and rogue mages and templars aside, though, Alyan was actually… Not exactly enjoying himself, but he wasn’t really dreading this running-around, either. The more time they spent in the Hinterlands helping the refugees, the more he found he was learning about himself and his companions.

Cassandra was every bit as formidable as Alyan had expected from the get-go, but she was also a lot more compassionate than he had anticipated. Fierce and brawny she was, but she was also more understanding and considerate than Alyan would have guessed. She was also surprisingly easy to talk to, and as he learned from nights sitting around their makeshift campfire with everyone else in their party, she was also easy to poke fun at. Varric was constantly acting as the proverbial thorn in her side, and though at first she seemed to not care for his antics one bit, Alyan quickly gathered that she probably more than tolerated him.

Gods, Varric was… A character. The easiest to get along with out of the trio, by far, and Alyan quickly found that he actually enjoyed having him tag along on their little missions (Much to Cassandra’s distaste). His jokes were in no short supply, and Alyan, ever the stick in the mud, appreciated the lightheartedness that infected the party even at the most grim of times. Another thing Alyan appreciated about Varric was the fact that he didn’t pry, didn’t try and dig into things he had no business digging into… Unlike Solas.

Even now, Alyan still didn’t know what to make of Solas. He was no Dalish elf, as was made clear by his tattoo-free face and his obvious disdain for the nomadic elves. He wasn’t a circle mage either, though, and that fact only raised more questions that Alyan wasn’t really willing to ask him. Solas, however, did not seem to mind trying to pry into Alyan’s background, as if he could see something within him worth digging for.  
Alyan tried his hardest not to be alone with the elf, ever. His scrutinizing gaze and knowing look made the hairs on the back of Alyan’s neck stand, and set a ball of leaden anxiety straight into the pit of his stomach. He was not keen on the idea of sharing anything about his life before the conclave.

This became a little easier, though, when the time to return to Haven came upon them. They had done all they could at the time for the people spanning the Hinterlands, and upon their return to Haven, they found that they had a new destination: Val Royeaux, to speak with the clerics in an attempt to garner some support.

It was safe to say that no one in their party was eager to make this trip.

…  
Val Royeaux was a city of wonder, and as it turned out, a city of surprises.  
Their first came in the form of First Enchanter Fiona meeting them at the gates to the city, extending an invitation to meet with the unified mages that had rebelled against the Circle. Many of them were taking up sanctuary in Redcliffe, apparently.

Before any of them really had time to mull over the invitation, though, another surprise met them once they entered the city. A podium, a Chantry Sister, and an angry crowd all grieving the late Divine and cursing the Inquisition.  
This was more along the lines of what Alyan had anticipated, though. What came next seemed to throw everyone for a loop, including the crowd and the Chantry Sister up on the stage.

Alyan was not very familiar with southern Chantry hierarchy, and though he knew that Cassandra was a Seeker at one point, that’s about where his knowledge on the organization ended. Lord Seeker Lucius was not a man he was familiar with, but even Alyan was taken off guard by the hostile disposition of the Lord Seeker and the way his fellow templar shoved the Chantry Sister aside as if she was beneath him. Cassandra seemed the most affronted of all, however, and her shock only made Alyan’s unease grow.

After declaring the Chantry unworthy of templar protection and also denouncing the Inquisition, Lord Seeker Lucius led his templars out of Val Royeaux, leaving behind shocked spectators, a near-unconscious Chantry Sister, and a bewildered former-Seeker.

“Has Lord Seeker Lucius gone mad?!” Cassandra sputtered, incredulous. Alyan could sympathize; they came to Val Royeaux with a purpose, and this was not a factor anyone had taken into consideration. The templars had officially gone rogue, and everyone seemed to realize that this was incredibly bad news.

“Is there any way he would see reason, Cassandra?” Alyan questioned, and Cassandra mulled his question over.

“I… I’m unsure. Lord Seeker Lucius was never a man to give into his ambitions, not like this… Something is wrong. This is incredibly bizarre.”

“Maybe we should take up that invitation to meet with the mages, then.” Varric piped up, and the suggestion did little to ease Cassandra’s mind.

“I would not write off the templars just yet, but…” she trailed off, clearly conflicted. While ALyan could see where she was coming from, not wanting to abandon the Order she had served for so long, he couldn’t shake the feeling of foreboding he got when the Lord Seeker came to mind. That was not a man he was going to easily trust.

Their trip to Val Royeaux wasn’t entirely pointless, though. Before they left for the city they were put through a… Scavenger hunt of sorts, by someone named ‘Red Jenny’. After finding the items they were told to find and after discovering an ambush by some count that no one in the group had ever heard of (Much to the count’s displeasure), they eventually ended up leaving the city with a new ally. Sera might have been a little eccentric, and perhaps not the most trustworthy (Who in their right minds steals trousers instead of weapons?), but Alyan was glad for the support nonetheless.

And so, with one ally gained and more losses than they’d anticipated, the group headed back to Haven to deliver the news of what had gone down. Leliana and Josephine were sure to have a field day trying to figure out their next move.

 

…

 

Shortly after they returned to Haven, Alyan met with his advisors and came to the decision that he would lead a small expedition out to Redcliffe, to see what the mages had planned. Cullen didn’t seem to be all for this idea, but with the templars having officially gone rogue, they all decided it would be in their best interest to at least see what they were offering.

WHen they made it to Redcliffe, though, they were surprised to find it mostly under lock and key… With a weird, time-warping fade rift cutting it off right from the get-go. The glyphs that made time slower and the shifting demons were more of a fight than any of them were used to, but eventually they managed to close the rift and gain access to Redcliffe. Things only seemed to get more confusing from there.

Immediately, Alyan was on red-alert. Talk of Tevinter mages and magisters occupying the city hit their ears almost as soon as they stepped foot through the gates, and it made Alyan want to turn tail and run right back to the templars. Of course, they persisted and made their way to the tavern Fiona had offered to meet them at… But Alyan was not happy with it. The others seemed to pick up on his anxiety, though they didn’t mention it.

It was a downward spiral from there, honestly. When they met with Fiona, she had no recollection of ever speaking to them in Val Royaeux, and to make bad matters even worse, she redirected them and their questions over to a Tevinter man by the name of Magister Gereon Aliexius.  
The man she had struck a deal with and indentured the mages’ service to.

This was a fucking nightmare.

When the man in question came into view, fixing Alyan and his companions with a knowing, sinister gaze, he introduced himself and his son, Felix. If he noticed Alyan’s rising panic, he gave no indication of it. He spoke to him like… Like a business partner. Alyan had to force the questions out of his mouth, had to fight back all of his instincts to look away and just leave. His saving grace was found in the form of a feint Felix, who stumbled as he made his way up to stand beside his father. Without thinking, Alyan rushed forward to catch him, and was surprised to find a note slid into his hand. He didn’t reveal it, not until Alexius had gathered up Felix in a rush of fatherly worry and excused the both of them. Once they had left the tavern, though, Alyan stared down at the piece of scrap paper in his hands. With hesitance, he opened it up and read it aloud, the attention of his companions undivided.

“‘Come to the chantry, you are in danger’...” His voice was low, and it wavered with anxiety. Surely his companions all felt the same.  
Alyan pushed his anxiety aside, though, ready to finally get to the bottom of this. Nothing was making sense, and Alyan was ready for answers.

The four of them hurried to the Chantry, none of them knowing what to expect… Although, in hindsight, they probably should have seen the fade rift coming.  
It operated the same as the one outside of Redcliffe, warping time and the space around it as they fought. The demons that poured out with each new wave were similar too, and this time they were able to get a bit of a hold on it and close it quicker.

The added help of the handsome stranger certainly made things easier, but before Alyan could properly thank him, he noticed.

The accent, the attire… Another ‘Vint.

Alyan couldn’t catch a fucking break.


End file.
